Picking Up the Pieces
by Beth Arritt
Summary: The victim in the VCTF's latest case isn't a stranger to John.


Finally! Here it is! As always, all characters belong to Cynthia Saunders, Sander/Moses Productions, NBC and the wonderful actors and crew at Profiler. I'm only borrowing, promise to give them back when I'm done, and not make any money off them while they're here.

* * *

**Picking Up the Pieces**  
_By Beth Arritt  
Copyright 1997_  


Samantha Waters looked up from her laptop computer at the sound of a knock on her open door. 

"Hi, John. What's up?" 

John Grant walked across Sam's office and plopped himself down on her couch. "I'm bored," he answered. "Thought I'd come see what interesting things you'd found to do." 

She waved a hand at the computer sitting on her desk. "Minesweeper. Easy game, but it passes the time." She watched him fidgeting on her couch for a moment. "It's only been about twelve hours since we solved that case. Do you have to have adrenaline *all* the time?" 

He shrugged and gave her a vague smile, looking around restlessly, but said nothing. 

"If you ask me, a day where nobody dies sounds like Utopia," Sam added. 

"Too many of those days and we'd be out of a job." 

"Exactly my point." 

"Sam, have you seen - oh, good, John." Bailey Malone appeared at the door. "Time to move. We've got a body waiting for us in DC." He strode off, not waiting for them to follow. 

"Guess you'll have to pick another day to find Nirvana," John remarked with a grin as he and Sam headed for the door. 

"Utopia," she corrected. 

"Whatever." 

* * *

"The victim is a Caucasian female, mid- to late-twenties," Bailey informed them as they walked to the chopper. "No ID as of yet. They found her near the convention center in downtown DC. Grace is already on her way." 

"Cause of death?" John asked. 

"She was stabbed. That's all I know until we get there." 

* * *

After arriving in DC, they drove through the confusion of the city, down to the outskirts of Chinatown. They parked across from the convention center then walked down the block. As they approached, Sam could hear the familiar chaos of a crime scene. A small yard overrun with weeds and police had been sectioned off with yellow police tape. There were several squad cars parked in the street, and at least half a dozen reporters were being kept away from the scene by uniformed officers. The agents showed their ID's to one of the officers and stepped under the tape. They were met by one of the local detectives, who filled them in on the details of the case.

"Fourth murder victim found in this area in the past six weeks. All women, all apparently from other parts of the metro area."

"Were they all killed the same way?" Sam asked, as she looked around at the surrounding area. 

He shook his head. "First victim was beaten, second stabbed, third strangled. This one's another stabbing. Twenty-four wounds--eighteen in the chest, six in the stomach."

"Could we see the victim?" 

"Sure. Over here." The detective led them to the body, where Grace was already collecting evidence. "She wasn't carrying an ID. We're running her prints - " 

"Don't bother," John interrupted. "Her name is Alexis Reed." 

Everyone turned to look at the pale, visibly shaken agent. 

"You know her, John?" Sam asked. 

"I was gonna marry her," he said flatly, staring at the body a moment longer, then turning and heading for the car. 

* * *

The whole group stared after him in silence. Finally Bailey spoke. "Grace, what do you have?" 

Grace shook her head to clear it. "Twenty-four stab wounds," she answered. She shook her head again, then turned her attention back to the body. "Eighteen in the chest, six around the abdomen. She was beaten pretty badly before he killed her--there's extensive bruising on her face, neck, torso, and arms." She lifted one of the victim's arms to display her wrist. "From the marks on her wrists it looks like they were bound with rope of some kind. Same marks on her ankles. Considering the extent of the marks it looks like she put up quite a struggle."

Sam put concern for John in the back of her mind and looked at the victim. She was wearing a short red dress. Her long, black hair had been pulled back with a barrette that now hung to one side at the ends of her hair. There were rings on each of her hands, and she was wearing a gold necklace. Her black high-heels were lying on the ground next to her. 

Images flashed through Sam's mind. She saw a flash of long, curly hair as the woman was hit in the head from behind and slung over a man's shoulder; the woman being thrown into a room then struggling to hit the man's face with bound hands as he reached for her and hauled her to her feet; a tumble of red and black as she fell after he hit her.

Sam blinked. "Any sign of the rope?" 

"Nothing here. Unless it's lying around on the ground nearby he must have ditched it."

"She's still wearing her jewelry...." A black mark on the woman's right hand caught Sam's eye. "What's that?" 

Grace looked at it closely. "A stamp of some kind, probably from a club or something."

"Maybe he picked her up there." She looked at Bailey. "Those things are pretty specific from club to club..." 

"We'll track it down." 

She nodded again. "I don't think it will be nearby." The image of the woman being thrown into a room flashed in her mind again. "He took her somewhere first. He didn't bring her here until he was finished." She stared at the body for a long time as her focus gradually shifted from the crime to John.

"Anything else you want to see, Sam?" Bailey asked. 

She shook her head. Once again her mind flashed to the woman striking out at the unknown man. "I think she might have marked him. Check for skin under her nails." She stared for another minute, then shook her head quickly. "I'm going to check on John," she mumbled as she turned and walked off.

* * *

She found him leaning against the car staring at the sky, his arms folded tightly and his legs crossed. She settled against the car beside him. 

"Hey." She squinted into the sun to look up at his profile. "How are you?"

"Having a *really* bad day," he replied in a rough voice, still staring. "You?" 

Sam wasn't sure quite what to say. All of her training seemed to have deserted her. She tried to remember what people had said to her after Tom died and pick out the comments that hadn't annoyed her at the time. No luck. "Tell me about her?" she asked finally. 

John took a deep breath and uncrossed his legs. "I haven't talked to her in a couple of years. Not since she moved up here to take a job as a political consultant with The Corr Group." He shrugged and resumed his silent staring.

"What was she like?" Sam prodded after a brief interval. 

He cleared his throat. "Funny. Sweet. Smart--she was very good at her job. The Washington Post recently named her one of the up-and-coming movers and shakers in DC." He fell silent for a minute. "But people change. I can tell you who she was three years ago, I can't tell you who she was last night."

They stood there in silence for another minute. Finally Sam pushed herself away from the car. "Listen, I'm done here, and I'm about to head back to Atlanta... you want to catch a ride?" 

After a pause, John nodded. 

"Great. I'll be right back." She went over to where Bailey and Nathan were talking to one of the local detectives. "Bailey, I'm done here, and you guys are going to be a while, so I'm heading back to Atlanta with John." 

Bailey nodded. "How's he doing?" 

"About how you'd expect," she replied. "He said she moved here to work for The Corr Group as a political consultant, that's a place to start."

He nodded again. "Keep an eye on him, okay?" 

"Already planned on it. Let me know if you come up with anything new," she added as she turned and walked back to the car.

"Ready to go?" she asked when she reached the driver's side door. He nodded and climbed into the passenger seat, not even voicing an argument over letting her drive. 

They rode silently back in the chopper. John didn't bother with the headphones, making conversation impossible over the sound of the blades. Sam mentally sorted and filed what she had seen at the crime scene while he stared out the window. As soon as they arrived at the office in Atlanta, John mumbled something about paperwork and headed straight for his desk. Sam stared after him for a moment, then went to her office. 

Some time later she was staring at her computer screen when she heard Grace's voice from the direction of the door. "Looking for the answers to the universe on that thing?"

Sam looked up with a tired smile. "Hi. Back already?" 

"Already?" Grace nodded at the clock. "It's almost five." 

Sam looked at the clock with surprise. "I guess time got away from me." She laid her forehead in her hand and rubbed at the tension there. "I've been going over the files on the previous victims, but I guess my mind's been wandering." She moved the massaging hand to her neck and looked up at Grace. "Did you find anything interesting?" 

Grace shifted to lean against the door frame. "Some hair and fiber, and skin under her nails. No fingerprints. I'll know more after I do the autopsy and have a chance to examine the fiber." She paused, shifting her weight and crossing her arms. "How's John?" 

"I don't know. He disappeared soon after we got back. I figured he could use a little space." She looked out the window toward the command center, but she couldn't see his desk. "I guess he went home." 

"Yeah, one of the guys said he left about five minutes after you got back."

She played with her pencil, tapping it on her desk a minute before answering. "He didn't say a word the whole trip back." 

"He's got a tough situation to deal with." 

"Yeah." Sam looked back at the pencil she was bouncing. 

"Well, I'd better get started if I plan to get home on time this evening." Grace pushed herself away from the door frame. "What about you, are you going home to that daughter of yours soon?"

"Eventually," Sam answered, looking at the computer screen again. 

"Don't stay too late," Grace warned. 

"You either," Sam called out as Grace disappeared down the hallway. She stared at her computer screen for a few more minutes. After checking the clock for the third time, she gave up. She shut down her computer with a sigh, packed up her stuff, and headed for the parking garage.

* * *

Half an hour later she was walking toward John's front door. "You worry too much, Sam," she mumbled as she raised her hand to knock lightly on the door. When that got no response, she knocked again. 

"Who is it?" John yelled a few seconds later. 

"It's Sam." After another pause she heard movement from inside, followed by a crash and an expletive. Finally she heard him fumble with the doorknob, and then the door opened to reveal a rather grumpy looking John rubbing his shin. 

"You look like hell." Sam squeezed past him into the apartment without being invited. 

"Come on in," he said sarcastically, closing the door behind her. 

"Thanks." She looked around the room. A half-empty bottle of scotch stood next to an empty one on the table in front of the couch. A full glass was next to the bottles. Between the couch and the chair there was a small table. A lamp with a broken bulb lay on the floor beside it. "Nice place." 

"Yeah, well, excuse the mess. I wasn't expecting company," he said tersely. 

She studied him as he walked over to the couch and sat down. He had taken off his shirt and tie, leaving only a long-sleeved t-shirt and the same gray pants he had been wearing earlier. He looked very rumpled and more than a little drunk.

He emptied half the glass in one drink, then looked at Sam. "Look, if you're here to play doctor, I'm afraid my couch is occupied." 

"That's good, because I am off-duty." John's only response was to finish his drink and refill the glass. "I came here to see how you were doing. If you needed to talk..." After getting no response for a full minute, she turned and headed for the door. "Obviously you don't feel like it, so I'll just--" 

"Sam, wait." She paused, her hand on the door knob. "I'm sorry." She turned to look at him. "I'm being a real bastard," he continued, running his hand over his face and through his hair. "Please, stay for a little while?" 

She walked back over to the chair and sat down. 

"Drink?" John offered, holding up his full glass. 

"No, thanks," she answered with a faint smile. "I think you've had enough for the both of us."

He looked at the glass, then shrugged. "Probably," he agreed before downing half the glass.

They sat in silence for a minute. "Tell me about her," Sam said finally. 

"I'm not really into therapy." He raised an eyebrow. "Never done it, actually. Shouldn't I lie down or something first?" 

She gave him an irritated look. "I'm a friend, not a degree." She shoved her hair back out of her face. "Talk to me. Just... talk." 

John slouched back into the couch, holding his drink in both hands. He stared at the drink for a long time. "I met her about a year after I joined the force," he said eventually. "I was working at a political rally, and she was interning with the office that organized it. We dated for a couple of years, and when she graduated from college, we moved in together."

He stopped to take a drink. "A couple more years went by and things were going so great I gave her a ring for Christmas." Another drink. "That January I made detective and immediately got thrown into a really tough case. I started working constantly. Alex made jokes about her imaginary fiance, but after a while it started to get to her. I came home one morning about six a.m. to find her waiting with her bags packed. She'd taken the job in Washington. Said she couldn't handle that kind of life. When she got married, she wanted a husband, not a ghost. So she gave me back the ring, and she left." He finished his drink, refilled the glass, then stared off into space.

"Did you see her again?" 

"Yeah. Today." 

They sat there for several minutes before John broke the silence. "I keep thinking that maybe if I had paid more attention to her, or gone after her, tried to patch things up... anything, maybe she'd still be alive." He punctuated each phrase by hitting his leg with his now empty glass.

"You can't think about 'what ifs' and 'maybes,'" Sam said. She knew logic probably wouldn't do any good, but his voice was getting hoarse and she'd seen a few tears fall during that last bit. She had to try something. "You can't protect the whole world." 

"I came to terms with that a long time ago," he said angrily. "It's not being able to protect the people I care about that pisses me off."

"What could you have done? You think that by keeping her here you would have automatically kept her from harm? She could have been walking across the street a year ago and been hit by a bus. Control is an illusion, John. Sometimes all you can do is pick up the pieces after the fact." 

"Don't you think I know that?" he yelled, jumping up from the couch and throwing his glass on the floor, where it shattered. "I know up here," he pointed to his head, still yelling, "that I didn't cause this. But in here," he laid his hand on his chest, his voice quieter but more bitter, "it's still my fault. I should have gone after her that day, I should have called her and tried harder, I should have .... Christ, I don't know what I should have done, but there had to have been something." He dropped back down to the couch and swiped angrily at more tears before resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward to hide his face in his hands. 

Sam sat in stunned silence for a moment, watching him shake. For her, crying was noisy, if only loud sniffles and deep breaths. She had never fully understood the term 'silent crying' until then. Somehow the silent tears were more heartbreaking than the loudest wailing she'd ever heard. 

She moved to sit beside him on the couch, placing her hands tentatively on his shoulders and rubbing his back. He tensed briefly, then relaxed and leaned toward her. She pulled him in close to her, wrapping her arms all the way around him and laying her cheek against his back, holding him tightly as the shaking increased, then slowly subsided. 

* * *

After John calmed down a little he sat up, rubbing his eyes. "God, Sam, I'm sorry. I don't usually... well, I just don't." He stood and started to walk around the couch, only to stop when he crunched the broken glass with his shoe. "Shit!" He shook the glass off of his shoe and stepped carefully over the rest of the glass. "I'll be right back." He wandered down the hall to the bathroom. 

Sam went into the kitchen, found a broom and dustpan and cleaned up the glass and the broken lightbulb. After returning the broom and dustpan to the closet, she peeked around the corner to see if John was coming back. When she saw the door still closed, she quietly opened up the refrigerator. She smiled softly when she saw nothing but cartons of Chinese food. There wasn't much in the cabinets either. So much for feeding him to counteract the alcohol.

She had turned on the other small lamp in the room and was sitting in the middle of the couch when he came back into the living room. "I, uh, suppose you need to go home soon, right?" he asked in a hoarse voice as he sat down beside her. He looked exhausted, and still a little drunk. 

"Well, I called Angel while you were gone, and things were fine. I can stay for a while." 

He looked relieved. "Thanks." 

She laid a hand on his arm. "Can I do anything?" 

"I... Can we just sit here for a while?" He swallowed hard, not looking directly at her. 

"Sure." They sat in the dim light for a few minutes, the only sounds coming from the passing cars and a lone train whistle. Sam felt drained. She shifted to lean against John a little. After a brief moment, he put his right arm around her. His left hand found hers, and their fingers entwined. Lulled by John's warmth and the steady sound of his breathing, Sam drifted off to sleep. Her last conscious thought was how nice it was to feel so safe for a change. 

* * *

"Sam?" She felt a hand gently tuck her hair behind her ear. "Sam?" 

"Mmmm?" What was John doing in her room? 

"Samantha, wake up. I've got coffee." He drew the last word out as if to tempt her. The smell of coffee grew stronger then faded. She opened her eyes to see John's face and a coffee cup, both sideways. Shaking her head, she sat up, remembering where she was. 

"What time is it?" She shoved her hair back out of her face and blinked. 

"It's just past seven." He placed the coffee cup in both of her hands, then moved to sit beside her. "We, uh, both fell asleep." 

"Oh my God, I have to call Angel--" She started to get up, but he stopped her. 

"It's okay. She called here around one, but you were out like a light, and I wasn't in any condition to drive you home, so I just let you sleep. Hope you don't mind." 

"No. No, that's okay." She tested the coffee. It wasn't too hot, so she took a big drink, then stood up. "I should get going." She looked around on the floor for her shoes, found them, and slipped them on. 

"Yeah, I need to get ready myself." John walked with her to the door. 

"You're going in?" 

"Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I need to do something. If I sit here alone..." 

Sam opened the door to leave, but John stopped her. "Sam..." 

"Yes?" 

He was silent a moment longer. "Thanks," he answered finally. "I don't know if I could have..." 

She smiled and touched his cheek briefly. "You could have." 

"But I didn't have to," he said with a small smile. "Thanks." 

"Anytime." She slipped out the door. He watched until she got in her car, then went back inside to get ready for work. 

* * *

Sam was at her desk looking over the autopsy protocol when Bailey knocked on her door. 

"What do we have?" he asked, crossing to stand in front of her desk.

She took the pen she'd been nibbling on out of her mouth. "Well, no prints, but there was skin under her nails, and we have a fiber. Cashmere, probably from a coat of some kind, judging from the weight of the fiber. I'd say he's your typical upscale, middle-age, average bureaucrat." 

"Great. Too bad there's not a shortage of upscale, middle-age, average bureaucrats running around DC in cashmere coats." 

Sam smiled. "Anything on the hand stamp?" 

"Came from a club called The Buzz. A lot of the trendy Capitol Hill types go there. Anything like that on the other victims?" 

"No. It's not likely there's much of a connection, but we should go talk to them anyway. Maybe someone saw something." 

"When do we leave?" Sam and Bailey both started at the sound of John's voice from the doorway. 

"John." Bailey took a few steps towards the door. "I didn't expect to see you today." 

"You know me, Bailey. Not even a bullet can keep me away from work. So, when do we leave?" 

Bailey hesitated. "Maybe you should stay away from this one, John." 

"What?" He walked further into the room to face Bailey, his jaw clenched and his hands on his hips. "Why?" 

"You're too close. It's too personal." 

"That's bullshit!" 

"Calm down. I'm not--" 

"No way!" He pointed at Sam. "If *she* can go after Jack, then *I* can go after this guy!" 

The room became deathly silent. For a moment Sam stared at John in shock, then she recovered. "Bailey, would you excuse us?" she asked in a calm voice, still looking at John. 

Bailey paused. "Sam--" 

"Shut the door on your way out," she said in a tone that dared him to argue, never taking her eyes off John. Bailey left, closing the door behind him. 

For a minute it was completely quiet except for the sound of Sam tapping her pen against her thumb. She stared at John, who stared at the couch, his hands in his pockets. Finally Sam spoke in even tones. "That was low." 

John continued to stare at the couch in silence for a few seconds, as still as a statue except for the muscle working in his jaw. Finally, he turned his head to look at her. "I know. I'm sorry." He ran his hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't think, or I would've put it differently. I just don't see the difference between you being on Jack's case and me being on this one." 

"The difference is I'm three years removed from my tragedy. Yours was yesterday. Alex's killer isn't using you as some sick excuse to keep on killing. And he's not likely to kill someone just because you're not on the case." 

John crossed his arms. "So who's more personally involved?" 

"I never said I wasn't personally involved." She threw her pen on her desk. "The man is killing people just because I knew them; of course I'm personally involved. But I'm past the stage where I'm out for revenge." 

"You mean to tell me that if you had him at the end of your gun you would hesitate to pull the trigger?" He moved forward until he was standing right in front of her desk. "The chance to end it forever--all the games, all the fear, all the killing. The chance to get the bastard who killed your husband as part of some sick game, and you'd let him go?" He leaned forward on her desk, supporting himself with his hands. "You can honestly say that?" 

Sam looked at the shuttered windows for a long time, saying nothing. The images and thoughts the subject provoked still caused her a great deal of pain. And anger. Finally she wiped at her eyes and looked back at John. "No," she answered in a hoarse whisper. "I can't. I don't know what I would do." 

He walked around the desk and pulled a chair up to face Sam's, sitting so close their knees were almost touching, and took her hand. "I don't want revenge," he said softly, looking her in the eye. "It won't bring her back. I know that. I want peace. Peace for Alex, and peace for me. I couldn't protect her when she was alive, but I can keep it from happening to someone else's girlfriend, daughter, sister, whatever." He paused for a moment. "Let me pick up the pieces." 

She looked at him for a long time, still teary-eyed. "Fine." She sniffed. "I'll talk to Bailey. You're right. You have as much right to do this as I do." 

John relaxed. "Thank you," he said quietly. He looked at her hand in his, then back at her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. That was the last thing I wanted to do." He leaned forward and wiped one of her eyes with his thumb. "I never seem to say the right thing, do I?" 

She smiled slightly. "Well, once in a while, maybe." She rolled her chair back a little and stood up. "I'm going to talk to Bailey." She slipped her hand out of his slowly and walked out, leaving him sitting there. 

* * *

She came back ten minutes later to find John lounging on her couch. He had picked up a couple of the case files from her desk and was reading one of the reports. "Bailey said you could stay on the case, but I see you didn't wait for approval." 

He looked up. "What? Oh. Great. Thank you." He went back to the report. 

"Why do I get the feeling that you would have gone on with it whether it was official or not?" 

"What's the connection?" 

Sam blinked. "Excuse me?" 

He looked up from the file again. "The connection. These women--there has to be a connection somewhere, right?" 

"Well, they were all professionals, all lived in DC, and they all had jobs that involved politics." 

"Along with half the population there." 

Sam smiled as she picked up one of the other files and began looking through it. She stopped in the middle of reading the obituary. "John?" 

"Hmmm?" 

"Didn't you say something about Alex being in The Washington Post recently?" 

He looked at her. "Yeah. She was one of the people they profiled in the Sunday magazine as future stars in the political arena. 'Powers of the Future' or something like that. Why?" 

"It says here that the third victim, Joan Light, was named NOW's Woman of the Year last month." He gave her a blank look. "These crimes are extremely violent." In her mind Sam saw the killer haul Alexis Reed to her feet and knock her back down to the ground. "It's about power," she said slowly. "Both of these women were recently singled out for their power." 

"He hates power?" 

"Well, he doesn't want women to have it. Or maybe he wants to show he has more. I'm not sure." She walked over to her desk and picked up the phone. "George? Could you check on victims two and three and see if they've been in the news lately?" She listened for a moment. "No, anything fairly recent that mentions them." Another pause. "Right. Thanks." She put the phone down and was on her way back to her seat when Bailey walked in. 

"You two ready to go to DC?" They both followed without answering. 

* * *

The three agents began with a visit to each victim's apartment, saving Alex's for last. As they parked in front of the last in a row of five story buildings, Sam could see John tensing up. 

She walked close to him on the way to the apartment door. "No one would blame you if you didn't do this, you know." 

"I would." 

Seeing the determined look on his face, Sam dropped the subject. One of the property managers was waiting to let them in. Sam followed Bailey into the living room of the apartment. She noticed a cluster of pictures over the fireplace, a few magazines strewn on the glass coffee table, a red raincoat thrown onto the back of the cream-colored overstuffed chair, and bright red pillows on the matching couch. 

"Looks like she could walk in at any minute," Bailey commented with a sigh.

"Doesn't it always?" Sam replied, heading into the bedroom. She looked around, taking a mental inventory of the contents, then opened the closet. There were a couple of photo albums on the floor. She picked up one and opened it. Pictures of Alex and John dominated the pages. The pictures were dated just before John made detective. Alex must have stopped using the album when they broke up, because the last half of the pages were empty. As she put the book back in the closet, an envelope fell out. She was about to put it back in the book when she saw John's current Atlanta address on the front of the envelope. She looked at it for a long time, then slipped it into her pocket. 

After looking around a little more, she went back into the living room. "He didn't bring her here." 

John was standing by the fireplace, looking at the pictures on the mantle. "Sam, was she wearing a necklace with a gold cross when they found her?" 

Sam thought about it for a second, then shook her head. "She was wearing a thick gold necklace, but no cross. Why?" 

He was quiet for a moment, still studying the picture. "Her parents gave her this necklace for her eighteenth birthday. It was a thin gold chain with a gold cross on it. The word 'Defender' was engraved on the back. Alex means 'Defender of Mankind'. She never took it off, not even... well, she never took it off." 

"It's been a couple of years, John, maybe she lost it." 

He picked up a picture and brought it over to Sam. "She still had it the month before." 

Sam took the picture from him and examined it closely. It showed Alex and two friends at a park somewhere. The date stamp showed it had been taken a month ago. She could just make out the cross at the end of the necklace Alex was wearing. She handed the picture back to John and went to the bedroom to search, but didn't find the necklace anywhere. 

"No sign of it," she reported as she walked back into the living room. "Assuming she didn't lose it over the past month, maybe our guy's collecting souvenirs. We should check with family members of the other three victims, see if anything was missing when they were found." 

"We can check on that when we get back," Bailey interjected. "Right now we should get going if we're going to make it to the club and The Corr Group." 

"You think it might be a religion thing?" John asked as they left the apartment. 

Sam shrugged. "It's possible. Some men view religion as proof of their superiority over women. Or it could be he took it as some sort of a trophy. Or she could have lost it. I don't know yet." 

They drove further into the city to The Buzz. The club wasn't open yet, but after Bailey knocked a couple of times, the manager let them in. One of the bartenders remembered seeing Alex in the club the night she disappeared, but he couldn't remember any details. 

After they finished at the bar, the agents went to The Corr Group. They spoke with the receptionist and found out that Alex's best friend, Monica Greene, was out of the office working with a client. Sam left her card and a message asking her to call, and they returned to Atlanta. 

When they arrived, Bailey headed straight for his office. John started to go to his desk, but Sam stopped him. "Can I see you in my office?" He hesitated for a second, then followed her. 

"Look," John said as he walked in, "if this is a therapy session--" "No, that's not it." Sam closed the door and turned to face him. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the letter from her pocket. "I found this at her apartment. It's addressed to you." 

He stared at the envelope. Sam held it out to him. "I thought you should have it." 

John took the envelope from her and looked at it for a minute. "Thanks," he mumbled, storing the letter in his inside suit pocket. "I, uh... I'll see you tomorrow." He jerked open the office door and left. Sam stood in the doorway and watched him leave, then turned and made her way to Bailey's office. 

"So, what do you think?" Bailey asked as Sam walked into his office. 

She dropped into the chair in front of his desk. "Well, I doubt it's religious fervor, despite the missing cross. Alex Reed doesn't seem to have been the type to inspire righteous indignation. I'd like to have the families of the other victims go over their effects and see if anything was missing." She shifted in the chair to prop her head up with her hand. "I also want to look at a list of clients and contacts for each of the victims, see if there are any names that show up more than once." 

"Already requested the first three from the DCPD." 

"I'll see if Monica Greene can give me one for Alex when she calls." 

Bailey nodded, then glanced out the window. "Where's John?" 

"He went home." 

"How's he doing?" 

"He's okay." She looked out the window. "He can handle it. He's strong. He won't run away." 

Bailey looked at her. "Not staying and going after Jack three years ago doesn't make you a coward, Sam." 

She stared silently for a few seconds, then turned to look at him. "I know." After a brief silence, she stood up. "I'm going to go call Monica Greene and see if she's in so I can go home." 

She went back to her office, fished the card the receptionist had given her out of her purse and called. 

"Monica Greene," a distracted voice answered. 

"Ms. Greene, this is Special Agent Samantha Waters with the FBI." 

"Oh, right." The voice became more friendly. "I'm sorry, I was going to call you in a few minutes." 

"That's okay. I was wondering if I could meet with you in DC sometime tomorrow?" 

"Actually, I have a flight to Atlanta first thing in the morning. I'm flying down for Alex's funeral and staying with her parents through the weekend." Sam heard the sound of papers rustling. "The funeral's at one--I could stop by your office around ten." 

"Thank you. That would be helpful." 

"Sure, no problem. I want that bastard caught. Anything else I can do to help?" 

"Could you bring a list of Alex's clients? The two of you worked together, right?" 

"Yes, but she had been handling a few clients on her own recently. I'll add them to our joint list and bring you a copy." 

"Thanks." 

"No problem. I'll see you tomorrow." 

Sam hung up the phone and looked at her watch. 6:30. She thought about calling John, but decided to just go home instead. 

* * *

Several hours later she was sitting on the hearth in her living room, staring into the fire. 

"I looked in on Chloe on my way back down the hall," Angel said as she walked into the living room. "She was sound asleep." 

"Mmmm." 

"There was a three-foot fire breathing dragon sitting on her bed licking his lips, but he looked friendly so I left him alone." 

"Mmmm." 

"Sam!" Angel snapped her fingers. "Hello!" 

Sam blinked and turned to look at her friend. "What?" 

"Finally, a response. You've been out of it all night." 

"Sorry." She offered a brief smile, then went back to staring at the fire. 

"Sam, why don't you just go over there and see how he's doing?" 

She snapped her head around to look at Angel. "What?" She gave her her best innocent look. 

"Don't bat your eyes at me." 

Sam sighed. "I can't. He won't appreciate me meddling, *again*, and besides that, it could give... anyone who might be watching the wrong idea." 

"Yeah, right," Angel snorted. "Jack hasn't stopped you from doing anything else you really want to do." Sam didn't answer. "You don't know what was in that letter, he might actually want someone to talk to." 

She hesitated, then sighed. "I can't." 

"Fine." Angel picked up the phone and took it to her. "Then call him. At least you might not worry as much." After placing the phone on the hearth next to Sam, she walked out of the room. 

Sam stared at the phone. With a frustrated growl she picked up the receiver and punched the speed dial number for John's apartment. The answering machine picked up on the third ring. She was still thinking about hanging up when the machine beeped. 

"John, hi, it's Sam. I--" She stopped at the sound of the receiver being picked up. 

"Sam?" 

"John." She blinked. "Uh, hi." 

"Hang on a second." In the background she heard him turn the answering machine off. "Sorry about that. I didn't want to talk to the people who kept calling, so I wasn't answering the phone." 

"I can go--" 

"No. That's okay." 

"You're sure?" 

"Sam, I wouldn't have picked up the phone if I'd wanted you to go away." He sounded almost amused. 

She smiled. "Okay. So how are you?" She moved to the chair next to the fireplace and made herself comfortable. 

"I'm... okay, I guess." He hesitated for a few seconds. "I read the letter." 

She waited, but he offered no more information. "Oh?" she prompted. 

"Yeah." 

"And?" 

John took a deep breath. "She was writing to tell me she was happy. She... she had started seeing this guy, and she realized that we... that our breaking up was a good thing." He sighed. "We wanted different things, and we wouldn't have been happy." 

Sam waited, but he didn't say anything else. "When was it written?" 

"Two weeks ago," he answered after a pause. 

They both sat in silence for a moment. "Sam... how long did it take you to get over your husband's death?" 

Sam didn't answer right away. She was remembering what it was like to have to put aside your grief and think and answer questions, when all you want to do is close yourself off in some room for the next ten years. 

"I'm sorry, forget I asked, I know it's not the same--" 

"No, John, it's okay." She took a deep breath. "In some ways I'll never completely get over it, kind of like no matter how much I see in my job, how much I understand intellectually why these people do what they do, I'll never get over how one person can do that to another. It's just something you live with." She thought for a second. "But you move on. It gets easier." 

"When?" There was a catch in his voice. 

"It depends. Closure helps, and it sounds like you have some in that letter. She paused. "Catching the murderer will probably bring a lot of closure too." 

He thought about that for a second. "What if we don't catch him?" 

"Then you'll move on anyway." 

"Like you?" 

She shrugged. "If I allow myself to live for hatred and revenge, then Jack's beaten me twice. So I let go of the guilt and the pain--most of the pain--and I go on. It's what Tom would've wanted for me. And I'm sure it's what Alex would want for you." 

"Yeah." He was silent for a minute. "Listen, it's getting late. I'd better go." 

Sam sat up straight in the chair and stretched. "Yeah. We both have early days tomorrow." 

"Mmmm, and I have a funeral to go to." 

"I was thinking of going to that myself." She hesitated for a second. "Care for some company?" 

He paused slightly before answering. "Sure." 

"If you'd rather go alone, I could--" 

"No, it's fine. I was just surprised, that's all." 

Sam yawned. "Okay. I'll see you in the morning." 

"'Nite, Sam." 

She hung up the phone and went to put out the fire in the fireplace before going to bed. 

* * *

The next morning Sam was sitting at her desk absorbed in a report when a file dropped onto her desk. She looked up to see John standing there. 

"What's this?" She picked up the file and opened it. 

"Michael James. The guy Alex was dating. I figured he was worth a look." 

Sam flipped through the pages. "So let's give him a call." 

"He's on his way down here for the funeral, but he's leaving as soon as it's over. He has an opening tomorrow morning at eleven if we can meet him in DC." 

She looked up, her eyebrows raised. "You've been busy this morning." 

John shrugged. 

Sam looked at her watch. "Monica Greene should be here any time now. Do you want to stay while I talk to her?" 

"No, I have a few other things to do." He headed for the door, but stopped half-way there and turned back to her. "Uh, is 12 okay?" 

"To leave?" John nodded. "Fine." 

He nodded again and left. 

* * *

A few minutes later Sam heard a knock on her door. She looked up to see a slim, dark haired woman in a dark suit. 

"Agent Waters?" 

"Yes." Sam stood as the woman crossed the room to her desk. "You must be Ms. Greene." 

"Monica," she corrected as she shook Sam's hand. "I hate formality." 

Sam smiled. "Me too. Call me Sam." 

"Sam it is," Monica replied. "I have that list you asked for," she said as she sat down. She pulled the list out of her bag and handed it to Sam. 

Sam skimmed the list until a name jumped out at her. She looked at Monica. "Senator Aaron Jackson?" 

"That's right. Why, does that mean something?" 

"Doesn't Michael James work for Senator Jackson?" 

Monica nodded. "Alex met Mike at a party about six months ago and they started dating. When Senator Jackson was looking for a new consultant, Mike suggested her for the job." "Oh." Sam filed that information away in her mind and moved on to other questions. 

* * *

An hour later, Sam dropped the pen she had been using to take notes and sat back with a sigh. "I think that's about it." 

Monica gathered her attache case and purse. "If you need anything else, don't hesitate to call," she said as she and Sam walked to the door. 

"I will. You'll be at the Reed's house?" 

Monica nodded. As they arrived at the door to Sam's office, John appeared with an armful of files. 

"Sam, I--hi." He looked at Monica, then back at Sam. "I thought you guys would be done by now." 

"We just finished," Sam replied. 

"You're John Grant." Monica held out her hand. "Monica Greene. I've heard quite a lot about you." 

"I'll bet you have." He shifted the files he was carrying to shake her hand. "Nice to meet you." 

"Same here. I was actually hoping to look you up this weekend." 

"Really?" He looked worried. "Why?" 

"I wanted to talk to you." She repositioned her attache case on her shoulder. "Would you walk out with me?" 

He blinked a couple of times. "Sure." He handed the files to Sam. "These are the news items George dug up and the lists from the Washington PD." Sam and Monica said goodbye, and Monica and John headed for the elevators. 

A few minutes later, John was back. After a cursory knock, he walked in and sat in the chair across the desk from Sam. 

"Finished already?" 

"Yeah." His voice sounded odd. 

She studied him for a moment. "Everything all right?" 

He cleared his throat. "I'm okay." After a moment's pause, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold ring. "I gave this to Alex a long time ago. Monica just thought I might want it." He played with the ring for a minute, then shoved it back into his pocket. 

"John, I--" 

He cut her off. "So what did you find out?" 

It took Sam a second to make the switch back to the case. She leafed through the files to find her notes. "Well, Michael James works for Senator Aaron Jackson. Alex had recently picked up the senator as a client." 

"And you think this might have something to do with Alex's... with the case?" 

Sam leaned back in her chair. "It's possible. Handling Jackson moved her into another level inside the Beltway. That's probably what got her into the Post article. It could be that the killer knew her from his office." She leaned forward onto the desk. 

"Or he could have just picked her out from the article." 

"Maybe, but it feels like he had some contact with her before the crime--with all of them. I asked George to see if he could find connections between Jackson and the other victims." 

John started to say something when George walked in. "Sam. I cross checked the other victims with Senator Jackson." He laid a file on the growing stack on her desk. "Turns out victim Number two, Leslie Baki, was Jackson's sometimes girlfriend. They stopped dating about four months ago." 

Sam and John exchanged looks. "What about the other two?" 

"Well, no close ties, but they moved in the same circles. Anne Durrance, the first victim, did host a couple of fundraisers for the senator before the election, but that kind of thing goes on all the time. 

"But it proves she knew him." John looked at his watch again. "Uh, Sam..." 

Sam checked her own watch. "Yeah." She picked up her purse as she stood up. "Thanks, George." 

"Sure, no problem. I'll let you know if anything else shows up." He left the office. 

John helped Sam into her coat. As she turned around, she gave him a long look. "You okay?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." He motioned for her to go through the door. "Let's get this over with." 

* * *

They made it through the church service, then drove silently out to the cemetery for the graveside service. Sam wore her sunglasses, not so much to shut out the bright sun, but to observe the other mourners without being noticed. As she looked around, she saw Monica standing with a couple that must have been Alex's parents. She recognized Michael James from the photo in his file. Beside him was Senator Jackson. Sam studied him closely. He was at least six feet tall and certainly looked fit enough to commit the crimes, but he seemed a bit too old to her. She scanned the rest of the crowd, but none of the other faces looked familiar. 

John laid his hand on her arm, and with a start she realized the service was over. He led her back to the car, but sat silently in the driver's seat for a few minutes before he appeared to make a decision. 

"Do you mind if we take a detour on the way back?" 

Sam blinked. "Sure." 

They drove out to a spot by the river. After parking the car, John sat for a minute then got out and started walking. Sam followed slowly. 

He stopped at a tree very close to the river. When Sam reached him, he had pulled the ring Monica had given him earlier out of his pocket and was looking at it. Sam stood beside him silently for several minutes. 

"I gave this to her here," he said suddenly. "We'd been dating for about a year when she dragged me to this flea market place. She fell in love with this ring, so while she was off somewhere else, I bought it. We came here the next day, and I gave it to her." He turned the ring over in his hand a few times, tracing the continuous design engraved into the band with his finger. "I think I knew that day I was going to ask her to marry me. I don't know why I even waited as long as I did before I got around to it. I guess I thought we had forever." 

Sam touched his shoulder in silent support. He blinked a couple of times and looked at her, then looked away. "We should get back," he said, shoving the ring back in his pocket and guiding her towards the car. 

* * *

Bailey was waiting for John and Sam when they stepped off the elevator at the VCTF Headquarters. "Briefing in the command center, five minutes." After quick stops at their respective desks, they joined the rest of the team. 

"Okay, people, we need to catch this guy before he strikes again. I know we've all seen these reports, but maybe if we talk through everything piece by piece, we can come up with some answers." Bailey turned to Grace. "What did you get from the autopsy?" 

"Not much, I'm afraid. Cause of death was multiple stab wounds to the chest and abdomen. The wounds were deep and forceful--he pierced her heart and left a couple of indentations in her ribs." She looked apologetically at John, who had a death grip on his pen, but otherwise appeared relatively calm. "The knife was at least seven-inches long and about one-and-a-half-inches wide at the base with a smooth blade--either a hunting knife or a butcher's knife from the looks of things. No sign of sexual assault, same as the others." 

Bailey made a note of that. "What about the fiber?" 

"A heavy weight cashmere, like you'd find in a coat. There were a couple of hairs on her, too. Light brown, positive match to the hair found on victims one and three. And there was skin under her nails, so whoever he is, he's gotta have scratches somewhere. DNA tests on the skin will take four to six weeks." 

Bailey nodded. "Sam, what's your take?" 

"Well, he's probably your average bureaucratic type--a nice, respectable guy in his forties with some sort of mid-level job working for someone with power." She fiddled with her pen for a moment. "He craves power," she continued thoughtfully, "but he can't get it himself, so he works close to it." She consulted her notes. "George, can you pull up the articles on the victims?" She waited a moment until the first article appeared on the big computer screen.

"Anne Durrance held a lot of backstage' power and influence in Washington, she was one of *the* hostesses, someone who could make or break politicians with a few well-placed words if she wished. Lesley Baki," she paused for a second while George brought up the next article, "was the assistant campaign manager for Representative Anderson from New York. Apparently, she pretty much saved his campaign six months before the election after the campaign manager blew it big time. Rumor has it she was slated to run Senator Jackson's next campaign, if a better offer didn't come along first. She was also dating Jackson until recently." George switched to the next article. "Joan Light was named NOW's Woman of the Year last month--she was a successful lobbyist for women's rights. And Alex Reed was hired six months ago by Senator Jackson to manage his public relations." An article about Alex appeared on the screen. "She was featured recently in an article in The Washington Post as a new power in the political arena." 

"All of these women held positions of power in politics. And we've found connections to Jackson's office for three of them--"

George cut her off. "All four, actually. I found this after you left." He pulled up another article. "Joan Light and Senator Jackson were working on a new piece of legislation concerning women's issues. It was due to be introduced in the Senate next month." 

John finally spoke. "So Jackson's got to be the connection." 

"He has to be." Sam turned to Bailey. "John and I have an appointment with Michael James tomorrow morning. He works for Jackson, and he was dating Alex Reed." 

"Snoop around while you're there," Bailey told them. "See what else you can find out." 

Sam nodded. 

"That's it then. Let's get back to work." 

* * *

Sam was in her office preparing to leave later that evening when Grace knocked on her door. 

"Got a minute?" 

"Sure." Sam looked at her watch. "I have about three." 

"Big date?" Grace walked in and sat in the chair in front of the desk. 

Sam smiled. "Yeah, a cute blonde named Chloe. We're going to the movies. What's up?" 

"I was wondering how John's doing." 

"Why does everybody keep asking me that?" 

Grace shrugged. "You're a psychiatrist?" 

Sam gave her a look. "I specialize in the criminally insane, remember? John may have his faults, but he seems pretty sane." 

Grace smiled. "Maybe. You've been around him more than any of us since this happened. He seems to be able to open up to you, which is really odd." 

"Gee, thanks." 

"I meant it's odd for John to open up to anyone. I was around when Alex left him. He turned into a real grouch for a while, but I don't remember him ever talking about it to anyone. Nobody even knew she was gone until he showed up alone at a party weeks later." 

"Grace, what are you getting at?" 

"Just that he's new at this talking thing. Be patient with him, okay?" 

Sam was annoyed, but only for a few seconds. She knew Grace trusted her, and she knew Grace wasn't one to gossip. She genuinely cared about John and wanted to help. "Thanks, Grace," Sam said finally. 

"Yeah." Grace stood up. "I'll let you get to your date," she said with a smile as she walked out. 

* * *

On her way out, Sam decided to stop at John's desk. He looked up from his paperwork as she approached. 

"Hey. On your way home?" 

"Yeah, I'm taking Chloe to the movies." She hesitated briefly. "Wanna come?" 

He thought about it for a second. "Nah. I think I'm just gonna go home and try to get some sleep." 

"Okay." She turned to leave, then turned back. "I should be home around 9:30 if..." 

He gave her a slight smile. "Thanks." 

"Sure." 

* * *

John was already at his desk when Sam walked in just before 8:00 the next morning. He looked up as she passed the stairs on the way to her office. 

"Hey, Sam. Will you be ready to leave soon?" 

"Give me two minutes." She made a quick stop in her office, then returned to find him waiting by the elevators. 

"I thought about calling you after I got home from the movies," Sam said as they walked to the helipad, "but I was hoping maybe you were getting some rest." 

"I was. I fell asleep watching the Braves game." 

"It was that boring?" Sam sounded amused. 

"No, Miss I-Hate-Sports, the Nytol kicked in." 

"I do not hate sports." She raised an eyebrow. "Nytol?" 

"Hey, it doesn't taste nearly as good as scotch, but there's a lot less hell to pay in the morning."

She laughed as she climbed into the helicopter, then spent half the ride to Washington arguing about whether or not she hated sports. 

* * *

They were early when they arrived at the Senator's office. John displayed his badge as they approached the receptionist's desk. 

"Agents Grant and Waters from the FBI. We have an appointment with Michael James." 

The receptionist consulted his appointment book, then made a phone call. "He'll be right with you," the man announced as he hung up the phone.. 

Sam took a seat on a nearby bench while John wandered around, not exactly pacing but never standing still. After about five minutes James came into the reception area

"Agent Grant, Agent Waters," he acknowledged as he shook their hands. "Nice to meet you. Sorry to make you wait, but things are a little hectic around here this morning." 

"That's okay," Sam responded. "We're a little early." 

"If you'd like to follow me, there's a conference room where we can talk." He led them through a maze of cubicles and office equipment. As she walked along beside him, Sam studied James closely. He was about John's height, with a less muscular build. He was the quintessential preppy from the stylish cut of his hair to his wire-rimmed glasses, but he was strong enough to have abducted the women. He opened a door at the end of a hallway and ushered them into a beautifully decorated conference room. 

John looked around the room. "Nice place." 

James shrugged. "It'll do. It's only free for the next hour, so shall we get started?"

* * *

After forty-five minutes of questioning yielded no new information, John was frustrated. "So you don't know if she was meeting friends at the club; you have no idea what time she was going there or where she was going when she left. Do you know *anything*, Mr. James?" 

"I'm sorry if I can't give you the answers you want, Agent Grant. I can only tell you what I know. Alone or together, we often stopped by the club to see if any of our friends were there. It's a favorite spot of ours. It wasn't unusual for Alex to have been there." 

Sam placed her hand over John's on the table briefly, willing him to calm down. "And you didn't realize she was missing?" she asked. "You didn't think it was odd you hadn't heard from her?" 

"We were working like mad here!" He was still glaring at John. "I got a couple hours sleep in my office, but I was working the rest of the time. I did try to call her, but I didn't get an answer. And she hates voice mail, so she rarely leaves a message if she doesn't get me. So no, I didn't think it was odd, and I wasn't worried." 

An aide opened the door and motioned to James. "Excuse me for a moment." He left, shutting the door behind him. 

"He's hiding something," John said angrily. 

Sam gave him a skeptical look. "Why do you say that? Because you don't like the man?" 

"He's supposed to be in love with her. He didn't talk to her for two days? Didn't even know where she was?" 

"Did you?" He gave her a look. "Did you know where she was all the time? The times you were so focused on your case that you didn't sleep for two days?" 

He stared at her for a long time. "I hate it when you do that." he said finally, but the anger was gone from his voice. 

She smiled. "What? Read people?" 

"No, just me." 

James came back into the room with a tall, beefy man. Sam wondered briefly if he was security here to usher them out. "Agent Waters, Agent Grant, this is Alan Holmes, the office's manager. He'll show you out. I really have to get ready for this meeting." He led them through the door. "You have my number if you need anything else?" 

"Thank you for your time, Mr. James." Sam responded, then followed Holmes as he led them through the office. 

"Mr. Holmes, did you know Miss Reed?" she asked. 

"Yes, lovely girl. Quite a shame what happened to her." They reached the reception area and Holmes turned to face Sam. "I certainly hope you catch the man." 

As Holmes turned, Sam looked up at him from the side and noticed something odd about his neck. "Thank you, we do, too." After one last look at him, she turned around and followed John outside. 

"So what now?" John asked as they got into the car. Sam was silent. "Sam? Earth to Sam." 

"Did you ever give a girl a hickey in high school?" 

John gave her a strange look. "Yeah, but never till the third date, so you're safe."

She threw him a look, but continued on. "You know how no matter how much you tried to hide one with makeup, you could never really get it to blend in?"

"I never really noticed." 

Sam rolled her eyes. "Men. Trust me, it doesn't work." 

"So what's your point?" 

"Holmes. He had makeup on his neck. I could see it right above his collar, but I couldn't tell for sure what he was hiding." 

John laughed. "Maybe his girlfriend was feeling territorial." 

"Cute." In her mind she saw Alex Reed scratching her assailant. "Or maybe he has some scratches he doesn't want anyone to see."

"You think Holmes is the killer?" 

"It's possible. It fits. He works in Jackson's office, he probably knows all the victims." She pulled out her cell phone and called the office. She told Bailey her suspicions and asked him to have George find out everything he could about Holmes.

"I'd like to stay in DC and go see Holmes after he gets off work, see if I can catch him off guard." She deliberately ignored John's look. "Yeah, well, it's worth a try. Right. Let me know. Thanks." She hung up and looked at John. "What?" 

"Don't you think that's a little dangerous?" 

"Not if we play our cards right. It's the best chance we have." She waited, but he didn't say anything. "Look, if something in his background information changes my mind, we won't go. But I really don't think there's anything to worry about. Except maybe lunch." 

He sighed. "You win. So where do we eat in this town?" 

* * *

They ended up at The Capitol City Brewing Company, a large restaurant resembling a converted warehouse that seemed a little out of place in the middle of the city. By silent agreement they steered clear of the case and instead talked about books, movies, sports, and other safe topics.

"This place is great," John said as he finished his sandwich. 

"Yeah, I used to come here a lot when I worked in DC during the summers." Sam looked around with a nostalgic smile. 

"Do you miss it here?" 

She thought a moment before answering. "No. Not really. Most of my memories from here seem almost like they happened to someone else. And I love Atlanta." She laughed. "Besides, DC winters can be hell." 

"So I've heard." 

Sam's cell phone rang. It was Bailey calling to let them know the background information on Holmes was waiting at the FBI Building in Washington. He would only let her hang up after she promised to call before she made the decision to visit Holmes.

"Reality calls," John said grimly, as he signaled the waiter. They paid for lunch, then headed for the FBI Building.

When they arrived at the FBI's main headquarters they showed their badges and checked in with the guard, who looked for them on a list, then picked up a phone. Finally the guard cleared them and handed them over to the young, dark-haired agent who answered the guard's summons.

"Special Agent Waters." She shook their hands. "Special Agent Grant. I'm Agent Nancy Yim. You're here to pick up the papers the VCTF transmitted?" Sam and John both nodded. "Very good. Follow me, please." Sam knew the way, but she followed silently through the hallways, exchanging an amused look with John over the formality of the main office. 

"Through here, please," Agent Yim instructed. She led them into a room full of computers and printers. Along the right wall there was a row of large mailboxes labeled alphabetically. Agent Yim leafed through the envelopes in the box marked "W" and pulled out a fat white envelope with Sam's name written on it. 

"Thank you," Sam said as the agent handed her the envelope. "Is there a place with computer access where we can go over this information?" 

"Yes, ma'am. This way." She took them to a small, windowless room a few doors down. "You can use this office." There was a desk with a computer in one corner. The agent switched on the computer and typed in the login codes. "My pager number is 2371," she said, indicating the compact beeper attached to the pocket of her standard-issue blue business suit. "Feel free to page me if you need anything." She closed the door as she left. 

"Are they always like that?" John asked after she was gone. 

"New recruits fresh from the academy? Usually." She laughed when John shuddered. "You should try working here sometime." She sat down at the desk and pulled the papers out of the envelope. 

"No thanks. That's one pleasure I'm not sorry I missed out on." He moved behind her to read over her shoulder. "What do we have?" 

She scanned a printout of basic biographical information. "Alan Holmes, born January 3, 1956 in Albany, New York." She read through school and work history before reaching the more personal information. "His mother was killed by his abusive father, Alan Holmes, Sr. in 1970. Holmes saw it happen." 

"So could he be trying to imitate his father or something like that?" 

Sam read a little further, then shook her head. "I doubt it. His mother died from a blunt force trauma to the head. The murder weapon was a large vase. The victims here have been beaten to death, strangled and stabbed, but nothing quite like Mrs. Holmes."

"He did beat them all first, though," John said, as he rolled a chair around the desk to sit next to Sam. He started reading some of the pages Sam had just finished. 

"Something's not right." Sam looked through several more pages until she found the police report on the murder of Holmes' mother. "According to the report Holmes Sr. beat his wife, but never his son. Yet Holmes Jr. was treated at emergency rooms throughout his childhood for injures consistent with child abuse." 

"So his father lied about not beating him?" 

"It was Holmes Jr. who gave that statement." 

"Junior lied?" 

Sam frowned. "Maybe. Maybe not. I don't know, Holmes fits the profile, but then he doesn't fit the profile. Something's missing." She glanced through a few more pages then stopped. 

John looked over at her. "What did you find?" 

"Transfer papers for Holmes Sr. He was transferred from the prison in New York to the one in Lorton, Virginia in 1983." She looked through the remaining papers. "There's no more information after that. Can you check the computer and see if he's still incarcerated?"

"Sure." He searched the FBI's database and came up with a list of current inmates at the facility at Lorton. "He's still there." He pulled up Holmes' record. "Oooo, Mr. Holmes does not play well with others. He has a long history of fights, he's been involved in three riots since his conviction in 1971. And he killed another inmate in New York. That's when he was transferred to Lorton."

"That's only about half an hour from here." She looked at her watch, then reached for the phone. "I wonder if he's up for visitors." 

The warden at Lorton checked with Holmes, who agreed to see them. Sam printed out a few more documents on the murder of Mrs. Holmes and studied them on the way to the prison.

* * *

After they arrived at the prison and turned over their weapons to the guard, Sam and John were ushered into a small white room with bright fluorescent lights. Alan Holmes Sr. was seated facing the door at a table with four chairs. He was an older, skinnier version of his son, his hair a faded light brown similar to Alan Jr.'s and with the same intense brown eyes. 

"Mr. Holmes, I'm Samantha Waters." She and John took the two chairs opposite the inmate. 

"So I've been told," he replied. He was sitting with his foot propped up on the chair next to him in an insolent pose, puffing on a cigarette. 

"We wanted to ask you a few questions about the murder of your wife." 

"Is that right?" He took a long draw off the cigarette and blew smoke in their direction. 

Sam didn't even flinch. "Where was your son when you killed your wife, Mr. Holmes?"

"I wouldn't rightly know, Miss Waters." 

She gave him an indulgent look. "And why is that?" 

"Because I didn't kill my wife. How am I supposed to know where my boy is during something that never happened?" 

"So the vase just sort of fell on her head?" John asked sarcastically. 

"I guess you could say that," he replied, stubbing the cigarette out on the table before tossing it in the ashtray. "'Course, it was in the boy's hands at the time." 

Sam looked at him for a long moment. "You're saying your son killed his mother?" 

"Hell yeah, that's what I'm sayin'. Been sayin' it for years, just no one's listenin'." 

"Why would he want to kill his mother?" Sam asked. 

"Junior never could take a beatin'." He bowed his head in mock shame. "I used to beat my wife, Miss Waters. I ain't proud of it, but I did. She couldn't fight me, so she took it out on the boy. As soon as he was strong enough, he stopped her." He paused to light another cigarette. "'Course, he told the police he didn't remember anything about that night. And who are they gonna believe, a 14-year-old 'innocent' kid, or a wife beater?"

She looked at John, then back at Holmes. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Holmes." She followed John out the door. 

"You think he was telling the truth?" 

"Yeah. Holmes Jr. is the killer. It fits. He killed his mother because she abused him. She misused her power. In his mind, women with power must be destroyed." She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed Bailey's number.

"It's Sam. Holmes is our guy." 

"You're sure?" 

"Yeah." 

"Well good, because he may have abducted another woman." 

"Who?" 

"Melanie Briggs. She's a Representative from Idaho. She was supposed to have had lunch with Senator Jackson. Considering everything that's happened, he got worried when she didn't show up, so he called us." "No chance she forgot or got held up?" She had to juggle her phone to take her gun back from the guard as they left. 

"She's four hours late, no one's seen her, and it wasn't a business lunch; it was personal. They've been seeing each other for a couple of months."

She looked at John as she got into the car. "Holmes lives in Woodbridge, that's not too far from here. We're on our way now." 

"I'll send reinforcements." By the time Sam hung up the phone and finished filling John in they were well on their way to Holmes' house.

* * *

They arrived at Holmes' within half an hour. They checked with Bailey on the estimated time of arrival for backup, then went to the front door. After two rings of the doorbell, Holmes answered the door. 

"Agents Grant and Waters. What a pleasant surprise." 

Sam took the lead. "Mr. Holmes. We'd like to ask you a few questions about the case, if you have the time." 

He paused for a second. "Certainly. Come in." As Sam walked by she caught a glimpse of the scratches on his neck, plainly visible now that he was wearing a crew neck sweater. "Can I get you anything?" 

"Actually, do you have a bathroom I could use?" Sam smiled, ignoring the warning look John gave her.

"Sure, I'll show you." He escorted her down the hall to the bathroom, then walked back to the living room where John was waiting. Sam waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps, then she quietly opened the bathroom door. She glanced at the stairs leading to the second floor, but something told her to check for a basement. She found a door leading to the basement in the kitchen at the end of the hall.

She tried the light switch at the top of the stairs, but it didn't work. She picked up a large flashlight from the second step. Glancing over her shoulder once, she prayed Holmes was a baseball fan and John could keep him talking, then stepped carefully down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, there was a narrow hallway with a door at the end. The door was bolted shut with a large padlock. 

"Thank God it's opened with a key," Sam muttered as she pulled a bobby pin from her hair. After a few modifications to the pin, she picked the lock. The door was heavy, but she finally opened it to find a woman asleep on a cot on the other side of the room. She moved quietly to her, putting her hand on the woman's mouth before waking her.

"Shhh, it's okay. I'm with the FBI. Are you Representative Briggs?" The woman nodded. "Let's get you out of here." As she helped the dazed congresswoman to her feet, a glint of light caught Sam's eye. There was a small metal object under the cot. She bent down and looked at it closely. She couldn't quite make out any detail without actually touching it, but she was willing to bet it was Alexis Reed's cross. She looked around quickly for the necklace, but didn't find it. She would have to look later; first she had to help Melanie Briggs out the door.

When they reached the top of the stairs, she whispered to Melanie to go out the back door and wait at the end of the drive for the rest of the FBI. After Melanie had taken the flashlight and was safely out the door, Sam hurried back to the kitchen doorway. As she turned the corner she all but ran into Holmes.

"Did you get lost Agent Waters?" He blocked her from continuing down the hall. 

"Actually, I was hoping to get a drink of water, but I couldn't find a glass."

"There are cups in the bathroom," he replied. 

"Oh really? I didn't see them." 

He looked past her into the kitchen. A quick glance over her shoulder reminded Sam she hadn't closed the basement door. She tried to squeeze through the small space between Holmes and the wall but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back into the kitchen.

"You see, this is why women should never be allowed to rule. They're always doing things they shouldn't be doing!" Despite her struggles, Holmes pulled her with him as he went for the block of butchers knives on the counter. Sam managed to knock a glass bottle off the counter, sending it smashing to the floor with a loud crash that she hoped carried into the living room. Holmes had just grabbed a knife when John came racing into the kitchen, his gun drawn.

"Freeze!" He aimed at Holmes' head. 

Holmes pulled Sam back up against him and placed the knife next to her throat. "Go ahead. Think you can kill me before I kill her?" They stood at a stalemate for several seconds, then John slowly lowered his gun. As John's gun went down, Sam felt Holmes' grip on her loosen. She took the chance and ducked through his arm, elbowing him in the stomach at the same time. She rose quickly and kicked the knife out of his hand as he doubled over in pain. 

John grabbed Holmes and shoved him back against the counter, his hand at Holmes' neck. He put his gun just in front of Holmes' ear, then stood there for a long moment, looking like he'd rather shoot Holmes than arrest him. Suddenly, he turned Holmes around, swept his feet out from under him, and gave his back a quick shove towards the ground. Holmes landed hard face down on the floor and lay there without moving. 

John pulled out his handcuffs and sat on Holmes as he cuffed him. He looked up at Sam. She touched his shoulder briefly, then went to talk to the FBI agents she could hear coming in the front door.

* * *

Sam looked up as she heard a knock on her door. John came in and sat down without waiting for an invitation. 

"Hey, you. How're you doing?" It had been a week since they had arrested Alan Holmes. She'd talked with John a lot, and he seemed to be dealing with everything pretty well.

"Okay." He looked around the room for a moment, then looked back at her. "I was actually thinking of taking a drive. Wanna come along?" 

She gave him a quizzical look. "Sure." 

* * *

He drove out to the spot by the river they'd visited the day of Alex's funeral. She followed silently as he walked to the same tree as before. He looked out at the river a long time before he spoke. 

"I've done a lot of reminiscing this week, and a lot of... I dunno, 'soul-searching' I guess you'd call it. But I need to do one more thing before I can let go." He pulled Alex's gold ring out of his pocket and threw it far into the river. After a moment he turned to Sam. "Thanks." He reached out and took her hand. "For helping me stay on the case, for being a friend, for... just thanks." 

Sam smiled. "Anytime." She left her hand in his as they turned and walked back to the car.


End file.
